Play by the Rules
by YourBiggestPretend
Summary: The truth is that she can't go forward and she can't go back.
1. Exception

**_play by the rules._**

* * *

The sky is such a vibrant blue, she thinks. Everything is so much deeper. So much more vivid. She inhales and identifies a dozen different scents, some sweet and some sour, and breathes them out again. The pavement is cold behind her head. Her palms that lay pressed against the ground are embedded with loose gravel, capable of being flattened into dust between her fingertips. It's all she can do to stay; to remain stoic and stagnant and immobile.

Everything within her screams _MOVE. _But that would be giving in.

The truth is that she can't go forward and she can't go back. Nothing can undo death; the freezing water that fills lungs or the final, deafeningly silent moments. Nothing can turn back time, not even a crafty hybrid. And so she must forgo the past and look to the future. A future that promises blood-stained lips and gut-wrenching emotions just as vibrant as this afternoon sky. A future blurred by two men: one she cannot seem to lose and one she cannot live without. And she's not quite sure she can do that either.

It's funny how not one single car has come down this road. It's a highway exit. The one that turns off the main and eventually ends up in Mystic Falls. Not a single soul has passed since she's settled herself in the middle of the street. But then again….maybe it's for the best. No one ever seems to leave here untouched. Every resident is involved, in some small way or another. Even the few tourists get a taste…or have _been_ tasted. You'd think someone would get the idea that it would be much more suitable and a lot less dangerous to move to a different town. Perhaps a different state. Or a different country. Some place where people don't mysteriously die. _All the time._

She doesn't want to move until something comes along. Something that forces her to make the choice. Is a masochistic that she wants to be forced into this? That she wants to be crushed? She can't seem to drink human blood on her own; it just doesn't seem fair. She wants her bones to crumble underneath the family minivan or a tractor trailer. She wants to feel the pain; to _want_ to live enough to drink the blood that will regenerate her supernatural bones. Because right now all there is is nothing and she feels more trapped existing this way than free. She can't be the girl Stefan wants her to be like this. She can't be a sister or a friend. She can't be anything when she doesn't even want to be alive.

A cloud floats carelessly by and she traces it with her eyes. What must it be like to be a cloud? To not have to eat, or drink or breathe. To just… float. Endlessly. She thinks she'd like to trade being a vampire for a nice, fluffy white cloud. A cloud that doesn't need to drink blood or choose who they love more or even die. Then again…they're not really living either.

Her iPhone buzzes suddenly in her pocket, and not just once. She removes it without taking her gaze from the never-ending blue.

"_Time for class."_ His voice purrs through the receiver. She almost shivers and she doesn't like it. (Yes, yes she does.)

"Leave me alone, Damon."

"_Elena…we both know you can't put this off much longer. When was the last time you ate? Last night? I will have no crazed blood-arexic teenage girls living in my house. You need to learn how to eat right. " _

Everything is always a joke with him. Without fail. "I'm busy."

"_Oh yeah?" _he says, deeply curious. _"Are we thong shopping? I could always offer an experienced opinion on what looks the most…delectable."_

"No. _We're_ not thong shopping, and neither am I." She says sharply. Than sighs. "I'm trying my own methods."

"_Elena."_ His tone immediately changes from a sultry tease to something soft, concerned. "_You shouldn't do this alone. Tell me where you are."_

_ "_I'm gone, Damon." She says. "Gone." She isn't sure if this means emotionally, or physically. She's halfway between Mystic Falls and the rest of the world. Halfway between sane and insane.

_"I'm coming to find you. Don't move." _ He barks gruffly and then the call ends with a click. The phone falls from her hand to the ground. She prays some heavy-duty vehicle will decide to make a Mystic pit-stop in the next ten minutes. But, of course, it doesn't.

Instead she bathes in the empty silence of the abandoned road, wondering if she'll kill and who that'll be. Will the guilt drive her mad? Or will her switch be flipped the instant the act is finished, with the final breath lost from drained lungs?

She doesn't want to hurt anyone. That is her greatest fear…dragging another innocent into this mess that she's made…that they've made. No one deserves this. No one deserves death.

The familiar screeching of tires has her hoping for the worst, and dreading the best. They slam to a stop about 10 feet from her spread-eagle body, and she counts the footsteps after the driver's side door slams. His form shields the sunlight and casts her in shadows. She squints.

"And you're laying in the middle of the street why? Are you asking to get run over?"

"Yes." There is not an ounce of hesitation in her reply. He raises a concerned eyebrow.

"That's not the way to do it."

"I thought…maybe if it hurt bad enough…I'd be desperate enough to do it on my own. Without stopping myself. I'd want to live, to end the pain. And to do that…I'd have to drink." She sighs, feeling the need to explain. It's pointless though. He won't understand

"They'd see you. They'd stop beforehand. No one wants to smush a pretty little face into the asphalt." He says after a moment. His lips tease up into a half smile. "Not even severe assholes like me want to see a pretty face go to waste. It'll be okay-"

"But it's not. " She explodes and suddenly she's on her feet and staring him in the eyes in less than a second. "Because I'll do it. I'll kill someone, Damon. And no one.._no one_ needs to die so I can go on living for the second time."

"You don't have to kill anyone Elena." His expression hardens, irises turning to cold, blue ice. "Forget what Stefan said. You don't have to kill anyone if you don't want to and I won't let you. I will _make _ you the exception."

She frowns. There are almost never any exceptions. Everything fails in the end and nothing ever goes as planned. She wants to believe him; all he's ever done is save her time and time again. Will he save others _from her_ if that's what it takes?

"How?"

"I'll do what needs to be done." He answers effortlessly and his eyes don't stray from her face. She feels herself freezing, becoming trapped in that same special thing he does that she can't seem to figure out. It's uncomfortable, burning her from the inside out in a way she can't accept yet.

"Fine. But I want to walk home." She relents, crossing her arms. He doesn't even put up a fight, shrugging his shoulders before sauntering back to his car.

"That's fine by me. As long as you're home by five…We can't have you missing dinner now, can we?" His black hair disappears inside the Camaro before it roars off with a flourish seconds later, the tires spitting gravel. She watches him until the car is gone, feeling like she will always be folding in this game. Always bending but not quite enough to break. At least this time he spares her her dignity.

She begins to walk calculating the distance between this highway exit and the boarding house, before glancing at her watch. In a single moment she is a blur, speeding off without a second human thought and an infuriated snarl.

4:58.

_Asshole._


	2. Predator

_**predator.**_

* * *

The first place he chooses is in some scummy, hillbilly town an hour and a half away from Mystic Falls. She sits infuriatedly in the passenger seat as he navigates knowingly along a few highways, wishing she hadn't worn the dress he'd tossed at her. It's red, about 2 inches below her buttcheeks and plastered on like saran wrap. Any tugging is futile. It's a miracle Stefan had actually let her leave the house looking like this but all he'd had to offer was a very stern "Have her home by eleven." Now she has to keep her legs smashed together to prevent the world from seeing her black lace thong.

"I don't understand the point of this. You really think the only way I'll be able to lure a man out of a bar is by wearing this…trashy she-devil dress?" She says, attempting once more to cover another inch of skin. The dress material retracts right back like rubber.

"Nope." The "P" sound pops hard on his lips. Damon looks at her out of the corner of his eye assessing the outfit he'd chosen and thrown at her the moment she'd walked in the door. "You could probably snag any guy you wanted in sweatpants and a t-shirt."

She frowns. "Then what is the point of this?"

"_I_ like it. Although next time, I'm thinking something a little more…low-key. More…seduction, less 'You'll be paying for your sins.'"

"You made me wear this because you liked it?!" She snarls. "I feel like a prostitute."

Damon shrugs. "I'm the teacher, I choose the elements of the lesson." His lips sneak up into a smirk. "And hey, I'd pay a good amount of money for you."

She slugs him hard on the shoulder, which he doesn't even attempt to deflect, and returns to pouting out the passenger window. This is ridiculous. Not only does she have to act like a floozy to lure out an innocent man for her dinner, but she has to look like one too. She'll be lucky if she makes it home without having flashed half the world her crotch.

They pull into the parking lot of "Misty's Place" and Damon parks the car far away from all the others. She makes to open the door but he hits the lock button, trapping them both inside.

"Now listen." He begins. His voice takes on a condescending tone, the usual one that conveys the message "I'm right, so shut up and take it." I know you're in a tizzy about the dress; forget it. It's merely a tool that will aid you in attracting what you want. And what you want is-"

"A douchey, horny middle aged man with twenties to throw?" Elena offers.

"No. An asshole. I know you and I know how much you defend people who can't defend themselves. You're a justice fiend. Well think about it this way," Damon gestures to her outfit with a smug half-smile. "That dress makes you look like a slut, and who do sluts attract?"

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or take that question seriously." She says, throwing him a glare meant to roast anyone, especially a vampire, alive.

He continues on with a wave of his hand and without acknowledging the possible injury to her self esteem. "Sluts attract guys with shitty morals. No real man wants a woman with her ass is out for all the world to see. So you dress this way and you get the bad ones: we're talking cheaters, possibly rapists, real scummy, scummy people Elena."

She takes a moment to let her frustration pass and absorb all this information. He _is _right. But where does it all connect? "So you want me to lure out some creepy, gross guy and let him feel me up before I bite him?"

Damon's blue eyes flare with disgust and exasperation. "Hell no. If he feels up on you before you bite him, I _will_ crush him. You have to play it smooth Elena, don't let him get what he wants but keep him coming."

She bites her lip. "I still don't get it though. Why not the average joe, looking for a drink and someone nice to talk to?"

"Because you love to defend the innocent; you hate the injustice of the feeding process. It's one of the things that keeps you from it. You feel like the predator pouncing on her prey. So don't feed on someone innocent. Feed on a douchebag. Someone cruel, perverted, disgusting. Feed on _another predator._" He throws up his hands, grandly encompassing success and happiness between them. "Conscience spared."

She watches his charade and takes it all in, letting him excuse away her faults and her failures and everything about her that's wrong. How can he do this so easily? How can he make it seem logical, make _her _feel justified in sucking away life when hers is already lost? She leans back in her seat and blows out a contemplative breath before deciding.

Okay. She can give it a try. But not here.

"Fine. I guess that makes sense. But take me somewhere else." She says and Damon looks mildly surprised she'd even agreed with his former explanation. He must've expected a tougher fight; a need for a deeper justification.

"What's wrong with here?"

"The name of the place is "Misty's" for godsakes. It's like walking into Mystic Grill." She mutters, still tugging at her dress but in slow resignation. "Take me to a different bar…" And then…."Take me to a club. A real one."

The effect her statement has on him is both exhilarating and frightening at the same time. His eyebrow shoots skyward and something dangerous spreads across his expression. It gives her goosebumps she can only attempt to suppress. He doesn't argue.

"I've got the perfect place."


	3. High

_**high.**_

* * *

The club is called Euphoria.

Damon chooses the place both hoping that the name will spell good things for Elena's first real feeding and feeling a little ironic. Beside him, she chews her pouty bottom lip completely unaware of how incredibly _sexy_ that is, and frets about possibly killing someone. He knows that _that_ will always be at the forefront of her mind; losing control, becoming like him_._

But of course, he'll never let her.

It hurts that she doesn't want to be like him. Not that she doesn't want to murder but that she doesn't even want to _try._ He won't deny himself that truth. It kills_ him _that she can't see the good in being what they are. She doesn't understand that there will always be some small price to pay to exist as a vampire, though mind-crushing guilt doesn't always need to accompany it. He wants her to see the benefits; to find the good and hold onto it. Deep down, he can see that killing someone will be the final string to unravel her sanity and he refuses to let her down now. They've come this far. Learning to feed should be relatively easy compared to past obstacles.

"I'm nervous." She whispers, though the words are loud and clear to him. He raises a steadying hand to her elbow.

"Don't be."

The bouncer takes one look at Elena and Damon has no need to compel him. Her dress and sky-high pumps do the job for him. They step through the doors together and Damon allows himself a millisecond to wonder at how they might appear through someone else's eyes. Elena is always beautiful and he's well aware of his own blessing in the department of appearances. He's willing to bet that they'd make a stunning couple.

But of course they don't. They are not a couple.

He shuns the idea from his mind, and leads Elena to a booth. They slide in opposite each other and he takes a good look at her worried expression. Uncertainty radiates from her and this is the exact opposite of what he wants.

"Look at me," he says and she does but only for a moment. Her doe eyes are wide as she takes in the flashing lights. The pounding music is probably an overdose to her new sense of hearing. "Look at me, Elena." He commands again.

"I'm looking," she says and turns back to him, blowing out an exasperated breath. Her fingers tuck a piece of hair behind her ear in frustration. "Tell me what to do so I can do it already and we can leave."

"Hell no you're not getting pissy with me." He replies, eyes narrowing. He takes another moment to just look at her before sighing. "You need to stop this whole jittery act you've got going on. You need to take control."

"I _am_ in control."

"No, Elena, you're not. You're about to chew your bottom lip off and I say that is _not _allowed."

"I'm afraid, okay?" She glares at him before tossing a drink menu at his chest. "And quite frankly, you're not helping at all!"

It takes all of his strength to resist rolling his eyes. "Well starting now I help. Look around the room. Use your new senses to guide you in the hunt, and look for a guy," he smirks " or a girl, who's up to no good. Not hard. I've already spotted at least three sketchy middle-aged men checking to see if any of their wives' single friends have decided to go out tonight."

She frowns, before muttering "Fine." and plopping her chin resignedly in her hand. She peers casually around the room. Someone who wasn't really looking might not have seen anything out of the ordinary but he follows the path of her eyes from body to grinding body until they stop. A clean shaven, dark-haired asshole at the bar points to something behind a Caroline look-alike and then dumps a powdery substance into her drink when she turns to investigate. Damon glances from the guy to Elena and literally watches as righteous indignation ignites in her expression.

"Douche." She mutters under her breath. He smirks. **Bingo.** And the Caroline look alike had certainly hit close to home.

He nudges her high-heeled foot with his Italian shoe before leaning in close to whisper. "Go get him, baby. Lead him to a nice, quiet corner. A little compulsion. Quick and easy. I'll be watching."

She rises without quarrel.

Damon follows her switching hips with his eyes until they come to stop behind Date-Rape Man and Elena taps him on the shoulder. She makes eye contact with the Caroline look-alike, smiling and no doubt subtly compelling her to call a ride home. He hesitates, but then decides to hone in on the conversation as Elena turns to her meal.

The guy is a little angry, but mostly flattered that she'd commanded his date to leave. His grimy eyes take in the dress (why oh why had he chosen that dress?) and her obviously interested grin and he shrugs. The guy is clearly full of himself and Damon frowns at how terribly he pulls it off. He drawls heavily "You know…something tells me she might've been a bore."

Her cherry-painted lips form the words "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," and Damon is instantly struck by how quickly she has switched from hesitance to seduction. He licks his own suddenly dry lips and fights a proud half-smile. He could get used to this side of her. Quick. Elena laughs, a sultry warm giggle that bubbles from her throat. "And you've hit the jackpot. I'm most certainly _not." _

The double meaning hits the guy hard and he smirks confidently. "In that case, I suppose I should ask if you'd like a drink."

A flare of fury fights its way into Elena's expression but only for a sliver of a moment. Damon detects it only because he knows her so well. The anger is gone so quickly however, that Date-Rape guy is completely oblivious. She leans forward, sinking her fingers into the front of his shirt and penetrating his gaze with her own hypnotic chocolate stare.

"I don't drink. I dance. And we're going to…_now."_ He can't tell if it's compulsion or the result of extreme Elena sexiness, but the man rises from his bar stool seat without looking away from her. Damon takes this as his moment to act and slides from the booth as well, following a few steps behind as they disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies.

She's doing so well, it almost hurts him to watch. How can she fight this? How can she fear it when she's already an expert in the game? He keeps a steady eye on the back of her head as she weaves toward a dark corner with her meal and hates the crushing feel that weighs him down inside. Love. It's always so much love and it hits him all at once in crazy times like these. He has never loved someone this much.

Someone bumps into the side of him and he turns to apologize. What he sees catches him so off guard that he grinds to a halt. A woman, auburn-haired and dripping a dark familiar liquid from her lips makes icy blue eye contact. She is shocked at first by the recognition in his face. He knows what she is and now she knows, without a doubt, what he is. Or at least, what he _could _be. She only appears surprised for a second, before raising a pale hand and smearing the blood off her chin. His furrowed eyebrows throw a thousand questions her way but she steps back, smirking appreciatively. He barely hears her words before she vanishes completely.

"_And to think, I was so sure I was alone."_

What the _hell?_ It takes about five seconds for his distracted brain to revert back to the task at hand. _Elena._ Damon spins on his heel and shoves his way through the undulating bodies in the direction he'd seen her last. For a split second he is terrified that he has let her down; let her drain Date-Rape douchebag when he'd sworn to keep her innocent. But he finds the two of them in the exact moment that Elena extracts her fangs from the guy's neck, blood rolling down her chin. The man is still awake, still breathing normally albeit a bit heavily. Elena fixes his jaw in her grip and compels him to go home and never drug another woman again. He stumbles away under her command. And then she turns from him to meet Damon's carefully schooled gaze.

The only thing that comes to mind is that she is a goddess. Maybe a goddess from hell, slick with blood and sin, but a goddess nonetheless. He has never her seen her look so confident; so completely in control of who she is and what she is. She is so unbelievably _perfect_ right now that it burns him up inside. The blood high has kicked in and Elena steps toward him in a half-lidded haze.

"So what's the grade on this assignment?"

Damon inhales slowly, willing the urge to pin her to wall and tear that saran-wrap dress to shreds with his fangs, to the deepest depths of the ocean. Folding to her vampiric urges has brought out her wittier, snarky side. It's incredibly hot**.** Instead he allows a satisfied half-smile. "A+. Beginner's luck."

She smirks at him, drawing a finger across her bloodied chin and popping it into her mouth. Her eyes close and she hums a low sound in the throat he'd give anything to kiss. "You know what I want?" She asks.

He steps closer. Anything. He'd give her anything after this success. She's done so amazingly good, and on her _own_, that right now he'd hand her the keys to the Camaro and clap as she drove into the sunset. He only hopes that she'll remember this. That she'll remember this feeling of feeding and feeding the right way when the high has faded into reality. He prays the guilt will stay the fuck away this time.

"What is it that you want, princess?" he says. She breathes in deep (relishing in the euphoria, he surmises) before reaching for his hand. Their fingers intertwine as she leans into him.

"I want to dance. Right now. With you."

It's a conveniently placed request. He cannot help but comply. She leads him once more into the crowd and they dance to a song neither of them know. Body pressed against hers, hands molded tightly around her deliciously curved waist, Damon allows himself to share in Elena's haze of satisfaction. He pulls her close and aims to forget: to forget Stefan and stupid Mystic Falls. Forget everything else in the whole damned world. And for a few minutes, he succeeds.

There's no question. She could get him higher than any blood ever could.


End file.
